


Metronome Beat

by Fanless



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, First Dance, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanless/pseuds/Fanless
Summary: A street fair, a summerweight skirt and the kind of first date you've only seen in movies and don't realize was a first date until it's almost over.





	Metronome Beat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whytekatt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whytekatt/gifts).



> BGM: "Egotistic" - Mamamoo

The sky above the city is only just beginning to return to its normal color at sunset, but tonight there are bright dots breaking up the hazy warm hues. Lanterns line the streets in long strings of multicolored light, bobbing and flickering gently in the light breeze. 

Pidge pulls awkwardly on the hem of her outfit and looks up to the balls of paper above her. Even though it's not a fancy occasion, she still feels slightly self-conscious in these new clothes. 

Allura's enthusiastic voice echoes in her head, flashback-style.  _Please, Pidge, let me choose something for you! I have a smashing idea._

She should have known it would end up something like this.  Yeah, what Allura had chosen was cute and surprisingly comfy, but it's still dressier than anything she'd had an opportunity to wear in years: a white flaring skirt with eyelet lace and a matching blouse in light blue and lavender with ruffled sleeves, colored watercolor-style. It looks like something that she might have worn before the Galaxy Garrison, being dressed by a doting mother. Something that might be worn by a normal girl. One who hadn't had to live in armor and uniforms aboard spaceships sometimes lightyears from home. 

Lost in thought, Pidge nearly forgets that her feet are still leading her through the crowd on automatic. She only remembers when they're stopped from leading her-- suddenly. 

Pidge ducks back, focusing on what she's just walked straight into in a hurry. 

"Geez, you're pointy!" A familiar voice, cutting through the crowd. Lance straightens himself up and gives her the once-over so often following some nonsense he wasn't a pivotal figure in. "Pidge, since when were you coming? I thought you said you didn't have time for stuff like this."

"Mom wanted me to... She basically picked me up and carried me bodily outside the house herself. Said I've had enough work for the next decade and I needed to get out and in the fresh air before either one of us went crazy." Pidge tries to fix her skewed glasses and focus on the outline in front of her. It's been a long time since she's seen any of the other paladins in civilian dress herself, and it feels like almost longer since she's seen Lance, period. "It seems okay, though. What about you?"

"Family always comes every year. When I was here, that is. We kinda split up to do our own stuff a while ago and I've just been walking." Lance steps closer, looping around to Pidge's side to ferry them through the crowds together. "You wanna grab a bite?"

She nods. It's something to do, and besides she's grateful for his presence. Lance always makes awkward social situations easier to deal with somehow.  

"Also... what are you wearing?" He gestures to her as they walk in an expansive kind of way that also manages to look very pointed. "Dude. Is that a _dress?"_

"It's separates," Pidge mumbles, feeling oddly warm and big in the face. God, no, why did she call them _separates_? That makes it sound like something a grandma wears in silk. Godawful. "It's-- Allura gave them to me. It's whatever."

"It looks good."

"Oh my God, stop," she starts, before glancing up reflexively to glare at him and registering the lack of laughter or jokey mockery in his voice. He's looking at her in some kind of way that feels just to the left of normal -- appraising, like when he's trying to puzzle out her latest invention, but with an added something rising from underneath.

Suddenly Pidge finds herself to be very conscious of his bare arm brushing hers, back of hand to back of hand. She steps away and the mysterious scale between them tips, releasing a tension she hadn't entirely noticed was there. Lance's fingers move and he blinks almost like he's rebooting. 

Neither of them address the moment of energy, but they talk and laugh for a bit after that, wandering a little haphazardly down the wide lanes of the street. It feels like the rare times during their travels where they'd had downtime and would roam the cities of faraway planets, smelling new scents and eating foods they probably shouldn't have. It's bizarre how those times feel more nostalgic than any before they knew each other, now. How much more like home.

From one side of the road to the other, the sound of music suddenly fills the air. Pidge realizes that they've found themselves next to the stage the local bands are centered on. There's a mixed group of girls and boys not much older than them up there swinging right into their first number without introduction or preamble. It's definitely dancing music: vaguely tropical-sounding, with a beat so thick and lazy you could pour it over a stack of pancakes and a lot of snappy bouncing licks.   Pidge isn't usually big into music as a thing and she definitely isn't a dancer, but even she can appreciate the aesthetic of the rhythm.

Beside her Lance's whole body perks up. "Shit, this sounds really good. I'm gonna get up there and bust a move."

"Lance. Please do not stage dive. I'm not trying to get thrown out of the street fair."

"Can you even get thrown _out_ of something that's already _outside_? I say no." He's already snapping his fingers, bobbing in place. "C'mon, let's dance!"

"Like both of us? No!"

"Why not? It's fun! Frickin' love to dance. Besides, I've never seen you dance," he says over his shoulder, swaying more energetically. "It's easy. Just get into the _beat."_

"Are you kidding? I have more left feet than Slav."

She means to leave it at that, she really does. But as she stands there watching Lance wind himself into the melody seemingly effortlessly, lean arms swinging and keeping time, something bubbles up between her lips that spills out all on its own.

"But if you show me, maybe I will." 

* * *

 

Lance's hands are warm on her hips, light but firm and feeling surprisingly large.

He's close enough for Pidge to smell him, which isn't as unappealing as it sounds: his skin smells like burnt sugar. Sweet, but offset by the smell of heat and faint savory salt. Like maybe if she were to take his skin gently in her teeth and press down with her tongue, he'd taste like cinnamon toast. 

That's, like, wildly inappropriate to be thinking about right now, though. Shocked at her wayward thoughts, Pidge shakes her head a little and grounds herself into the challenge at hand.

"Okay. So, how do we do this?"

"It's not as hard as it looks, honestly. It's not like we're ballroom dancing or anything." Lance grins and holds up their hands, interlocking his fingers with hers. "All you really gotta do is follow me as close as you can and move with the beat. If you can follow a metronome you can dance."

"Probably not  _well_ , though. And I've never done that either."

"Yeah, well, I have, so don't even worry about it." He laughs and pulls her closer as an unsteady couple swings into their vicinity. His palm on the back of her back makes her skin crackle and pop. "Follow the leader and learn from the master."

Pidge smirks lightly. The familiar hubris has her feeling less self-conscious, and at least (she thinks, glancing behind her at the sloppy two cutting a path through the other gaggles of fair-walkers) they can't look any stupider than that drunk couple. 

"Sure. Whatever, Lance. Take me away."

They're so close she can feel the bones of his hips under his thin summerweight joggers shift as they twist in time to the bounce of the percussion. It's a strange sensation, and a slightly shocking one. Maybe more than  _slightly_  shocking, Pidge admits; up against what she'd normally consider a no-encounter-without-making-it-wildly-awkward area, it's all too easy to think about the fact that Lance's body is very much touching hers. Not  _just_  touching, even, but pressing into like it's trying to prove a point. It's all too easy to think about the fact that between the fabric and those bones, their bones, is warm skin and sweat and living flesh with heartbeats pulsing through it. Skin that is so very close to being bare, when you think about it hard enough. She could slide her hand a few inches over and fit her fingers into the curves of his spine. She could stand on her toes and their faces could touch. Their noses, their mouths...

With a start, Pidge realizes she's barely been moving-- just letting herself be swayed from side to side. Lance leans out for a moment and flicks her nose. 

"Hey, leadfoot, still with me?" 

"Yeah! Y-yeah. I'm sorry." Pidge knows she's turning red from the wave of heat that rushes up the front of her body. The hand on Lance's feels soaked in sweat-- how did both their hands end up on his hip?  "How, how am I doing so far!"

"Pretty good." He grins, bright. "But hey, you wanted food, yeah? We should go get something before the lines get too long."

"Y... yeah-- yeah. Yeah. Let's, let's food." Food is the last thing she's been thinking of, but all of a sudden Pidge does feel very lightheaded. "And then, maybe -- uh -- maybe we can come back here and dance some more?"

Lance stops and looks at her face, and just for a second that questioning light flickers behind his eyes again. Then he nods, smile unrolling back over his face, and steps back with his hand still touching hers.

Just for a moment their fingers are connected at the tips, and then suddenly-- in the moment it takes to focus her eyes, in the moment between inhale and exhale-- Lance is disappearing into the whirl of color and sensation that is the rest of the street surrounding them. Swirled away from her like confetti, or the smell of cotton candy too close to the fires.

Pidge lets him go, just long enough to almost disappear. It's worth it just to watch him move and drink in the memories of being part of that wavelength. 

**Author's Note:**

> First VLD fic but definitely not the last. Woo.


End file.
